Going Green

For my generation the phrase “going green” most likely meant the color of a kid’s face after getting off the school merry-go-round for the tenth time. We had a color barometer for when something interesting was about to happen. Red meant a kid was just a little overheated from too much exertion. Green meant you were about to say goodbye to your lunch. And white meant it was time to call the teacher.

Today, of course, going green is an expression used for all things recycled, reused, reduced and regurgitated (okay, I made that one up). It may seem that the going green worldview is a new approach to global stewardship; however, I can recall a time when we had another word for this kind of frugality. It was called survival.

Growing up on a farm with nine people demanded strict monitoring of waste. Our heritage also required a tight fist on the monetary flow of what was available. It was shameful to live a lavish lifestyle and prudence was cultured along with the vegetables in the garden.

A few of my “gone green” memories are:

1)     Shoes:  We had three pairs of shoes—one pair for church, one for school, and one for every day, capable of withstanding chicken poop and other farm products. We polished the church shoes to extend their life and squeezed toes for as long as possible until there was no other alternative but to replace them.

2)     Games: When we wanted a popular game called Snap, my mother cut out cardboard squares from laundry detergent boxes and designed the components of the game on our newly created deck of cards.

3)     Books: When the country schoolhouse down the road was ready to close its doors, my parents procured the books from the school and created a family library for us. I spent many hours with Flicka, Ricka, Dicka and Stumpy, the chipmunk.

4)     Food: We were hearty eaters so I do not remember many leftovers, but any little dibble that might happen to be unused went to the farm cats. They were well fed without the luxury of Fancy Feast in a can and they kept the vermin population in check.

5)     Trash: We did not have a garbage service so every item that went into the trash had to be dealt with on a personal level. We were loathe to toss anything away that wasn’t absolutely necessary. The waste that was capable of being burned went to the “burn pile.” It was a metal ring with a bit of wire fencing around it. We waited for a day without gale force winds (no easy task in our neck of the woods) and started the flame. It was always a high alert day as we monitored for stray sparks and sudden wind changes.

6)     Household: Any furniture that still had the bones to be able to withstand the torments of children, was polished and reupholstered over and again. Upholstery was selected not for its aesthetic value. It was purchased based on availability and price point. (To this day, I love that forest green rocking chair.)

7)     Pop cans: No such thing in our world. Milk was the drink of choice and our farm cow made sure we didn’t need to use any plastic containers for our supply. We did have an occasional orange soda supplied by my grandma. The empty bottles were always carefully rinsed and returned for a deposit.

Back in the day, I guess we didn’t need a campaign to remind us that we should be parsimonious and sparing. We just needed to heed my grandmother’s advice.

Waste not, want not.